The Steward and the Sorcerer, James Peart [novels to read in english .txt] 📗

you ready?” Simon whispered to Christopher.  They were standing outside the soldiers’ barracks.  Worried that he had given him too much to say, he had earlier simplified the prepared speech he had given to his friend to memorise for when he addressed the soldiers of the Northern Army.  Christopher gave him a terse nod, clearly agitated.  Simon wished he could have given the speech himself, could have persuaded him it was in both their interests but there was no purpose to that reasoning and his friend understood that much at least.

Together they walked inside the barracks, a building which housed a vast network of rooms interrupted by broad corridors and ante-chambers with racks on the walls on which were mounted swords, bows, pikes and halberds of differing varieties.  The entrance to the barracks led down some steps into a tall chamber decorated with murals of troops engaged in forms of combat on enemy fields.  A gold-inlaid plaque fixed prominently to the side-wall read in bold inscription: ‘A stake for every citizen is a stake in his future.’  There were a handful of army men sitting on a bench playing a card game of some description, they didn’t know what, the cards looking wholly unlike what they were familiar with.  On seeing Christopher, they scrambled immediately to their feet, nearly knocking over the bench.  “My Lord!” they said in unison, sketching hasty salutes.

Christopher made a gesture to put them at their ease.  With a whispered prompt from Simon who was standing behind him to his right, he instructed “gather the rest of the men to assemble herein this room.  I need to address all of you.”  To Christopher’s relief they set unquestioningly about the task, marching down the corridors and beginning to hammer on the doors of the soldiers’ individual quarters amid shouts of ‘out of it!’ and ‘look alive!’.  By the look of them, some of the troops, when they emerged, had been sleeping.  As they noticed Christopher, they stiffened immediately, wiping the crusts from their eyes and fell in line as they assembled in the high-ceilinged chamber.

When they had all gathered, Christopher looked at the thousand-strong rank and file before him with something approaching alarm.  The eyes of some of them moved questioningly over Simon, not recognising him from the Council body.  Most stared straight ahead, waiting for their Steward to begin speaking.  Christopher half turned to Simon for support yet the other prodded the small of his back sharply with his finger, the action unnoticed by the soldiery, and Christopher reluctantly turned back to deliver his address.

“I have called you here today as your Steward,” he began tentatively, almost questioningly, not noticing Simon close his eyes briefly behind him.  “You have served me well over the years, given many years of service to Brinemore, and for that I thank each and every one of you.  Today, however, I ask something of you that goes above ordinary notions of duty.”  He swallowed, then cleared his throat.

“There is an enemy at our gates this night, one unlike any you have encountered so far in your efforts to defend the state. Some of you have likely heard rumours, some of it presented as fact.  I am here before you now to confirm what is true and to dismiss baseless rumours.”  He paused, his eyes travelling over those of the men, trying to summon in his voice a strength of character he did not feel.

“This enemy presents a threat to the state.  He comes in the shape and form of a man yet he is something far stronger than that.  He...has the ability to control the minds of men with a single touch.  He will use this gift as a curse against us by trying to suborn soldier and citizen alike on his journey to the heart of the city.  As I speak he is almost upon us and has likely seized control of much of our citizenry.  His goal is to breach the citadel and turn all that he meets along the way into unquestioning subjects, mere puppets to serve his every whim, no matter how trivial or ridiculous.  He calls himself Iridis and considers himself to be a King.  If he were to succeed in sacking Brinemore tonight, his greater plan is to rule the entirety of the Northern Earth, to rob it permanently of its independence.”  Christopher’s voice suddenly strengthened, drawing on reserves of power he didn’t realise he had.  “He must not be allowed to take the city.  We are the only thing that stands between this man and control of the Northern Earth.  Are you with me?”

A roar swelled across the ranks of those assembled.  Many of the troops stamped their boots on the floor or raised their fists in a bold gesture of defiance against this foe they had not yet encountered.

Christopher lifted his hand to subdue the swell and Simon thought, incredibly, ‘he’s enjoying this.’

The crowd of fighting men quieted and the man they thought of as their Steward added “Because Iridis now governs at least some of our citizenry, you will be asked to confront them in battle.  This may be hard for you but remember this: if you do not, our state will cease to exist and the city will be no more.  Those who have been touched by him, their lives are already over and we are in a battle- no, a war- to protect what is left.  I trust you will not let me down.

“Gather your arms and alert the remainder of the Northern Army outside this barracks to do likewise.  Iridis and his followers have breached the limits of the city.  They are likely close to the citadel.  Leave now.  Confront and destroy them.”

As the soldiers dispersed, the features of the individual men almost uniformly tightened in steadfast resolve, Christopher turned to his friend who was staring at him with a look of silent wonderment.

“How did I do?” he asked, something of the old Christopher returning, revealing itself in a